


Hindsight

by Kymopoleia



Series: Voltron: Questionable and Uncomfortable [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Eye Sex, Eye Trauma, Gore, M/M, Skull Fucking, also i make very cruel sight puns, this is very fucked up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 16:07:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7764340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kymopoleia/pseuds/Kymopoleia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I have no desire to suffer twice, in reality and then in retrospect.”   ― Sophocles</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hindsight

The specs had said there was a prisoner holding cell this way. Lance had seen the specs himself, had been able to identify the three greenlit rectangles himself. The bigger two, closer to the hangar, they’d been able to hold about a hundred prisoners each. Pidge thought they’d be about half that, but even transporting that many was risky. So Pidge and Shiro took one, Keith and Hunk took the other. It made sense. Two paladins apiece, one for more of the herding of the prisoners, and one for protection. With the blaster Shiro had gotten his hands on, with the living spaces in their lions, it would be no trouble to save those people. The smaller one, half a ship away, required someone to go and check. It could hold twenty prisoners at complete max, with the people piled on top of each other or standing crowded together. Pidge wanted to go, Shiro wanted to go, but Lance insisted he take it. He was quicker, he had a good weapon for both close and long range combat, he could get a handful of people out like that.

The specs had said there was a holding cell here, and it had never crossed his mind that it might be a trap. Surely, if there’d been a trap, the Galra would have set it in one of the bigger holding cells. Disguise a soldier as a prisoner, wait until they got onto the lions, and take control. That was what Lance thought would have happened. Surely the tiny, isolated cell would have been for someone important, or violent, or weak.

That would have made sense.

Lance stands in front of the opened cell, staring at the emptiness. It’s about the size of a coat closet, bigger than his closet back home but still tiny. There was hardly room in there to lay down, he thought, and no furnishings other than a smooth black pillar, cubical and straight, with rings larger than his hands about every foot, and vertical purple highlights every two inches.

He's so confused he doesn’t hear the soldier coming up behind him until it’s too late, the butt of the blaster rifle slamming into the back of his helmet and sending the image of the pillar swimming. Lance pitches forward, his bayard flickering before becoming useless as it skitters out of his hand, hitting the far wall of the cell. Lance shouts in surprise and pain as he lifts a hand to cup the spot where he’d been struck, his fingers coming back wet and slippery.

He stumbles towards the cell and half turns, vision swimming as he tries to find the assailant and force them back, away from him. But the soldier is there, holding his blaster into Lance’s face, right at his cheek.

“Back up, paladin.” Comes the order, the voice calm and flat. If Lance didn’t know better, he’d think the soldier was bored, that this was just some training exercise.

The world bounces, the room spinning around him, and Lance takes a shaky step back.

“To the pillar.”

Lance doesn’t know how far back it was, if he’s in the right spot, but he does remember his bayard on the floor behind him in a dim moment of clarity. His left foot hits the corner of the pillar, and Lance turns to dive for it.

Just as his hand hits the ground next to his bayard, the guard sends three bursts from his blaster. Lance has to yank his hand back to his chest quickly to avoid getting it blown off, and the third sends the bayard skittering away.

By this point, another guard or two have shown up. Lance can’t tell, the world doesn’t make sense anymore and his vision is shaky at best.

The first guard, he thinks, yanks him up and drags him back to the pillar, forcing Lance to lean against it. The other two step up while Lance struggles against the firm hands on his shoulder and collarbone, legs kicking and arms trying to escape the sudden prison of the soldier’s hands. They pull his hands up at a terrible angle until they’re at about ear height, back behind it and nearing one of the rings he’d noticed. They force his hands through the strange rings, and with a sharp noise the rings suddenly clamp down and trap his wrists there.

Lance screams in pain, suddenly remembering the buzz and chatter of his teammates as it goes quiet.

“Lance?”

“Lance, come in”

“What’s going on?”

“Were there prisoners there?”

“Where are you now?”

“Are you okay?”

“Pidge, get the prisoners to the lions, I’m going to go find him”

The first soldier takes Lance’s head in his hands and smashes it against the pillar, sending his vision through another tumble and shaking his whole world again, then yanks the helmet off and tosses it in the same direction as his bayard.

Lance can barely hear the crackle of their voices through the pain, through the haze, and he can’t help the whimper as one of the soldiers tips his head back to look at him better.

“Human. Earth.” The one on the right (left? Right? What do directions mean anymore) clarifies. “Ugly creatures.”

The one who is definitely in front of Lance pokes a finger between his lips, forcing them open. Lance thinks he has a concussion from how hard he’s been hit, and wishes he’d thought to say something, wishes he hadn’t been so surprised by the trap. “Blunt teeth, though.”

The one who hadn’t spoken yet’s eyebrows rise. “Really? Oh, nice.” He slips his finger in too. “But we don’t know what kind of bacteria they have in there.”

The one in the middle sniffs, jerking a thumb at the door. “Hey, Ronis. Close that. I have an idea.” He tips Lance’s head back a bit more with a single finger on his forehead, getting a dangerous smirk made only worse by the fact that he was furry and purple. “Think we should teach this paladin a lesson?”

Ronis turns out to be the one who knew where Lance was from, and he shuts the door to the cell as he unbuckles his pants. “Wachs, I like where you’re taking this. Teper, you in?

The one who called him disgusting shrugs, looking disinterested. “Nah, I’ll just watch. How long do you think we have before one of his teammates finds this?”

That left Wachs to be the one pushing his pants down his hips, shimmying a little to expose a relatively normal looking purple cock. “Not soon enough.” He laughs, and Ronis laughs too as he comes up to lean against the pillar, all of them looming over Lance like nightmares.

Lance struggles again, clamping his mouth shut. He’d seen and heard enough to realize what was happening, and he didn’t want it. He kicks out to try and unbalance the soldier, to buy some time, but Teper catches his ankle and steps on it. The bones grind together and Lance feels the skin break, blood squelching out into his socks. He screams again, and it’s doubtless that his teammates heard the sound despite how far away the helmet is.

Ronis wolf whistles while Wachs starts stroking himself to make the monster hard.

About then is when Lance realizes he isn’t going to get out in time.

“Fu-“ he coughs, his voice small and hoarse from pain. “Fuck off.” He shifts, feeling the metal of the rings dig into his wrists, the strain of keeping his arms up sending unwanted shivers down his spine and droplets of sweat down his brow. 

“Aw, cute.” Ronis reaches down to ruffle his hair, Teper grinding his foot down. Lance can’t help the next scream. “It’s trying to insult us.”

Lance tore his head out of the soldier’s grip to press his face into his shoulder, shutting his eyes to hide the tears finally coming out. He still can’t see very well, and his hearing must be shot by now. Everything on the left is staticky and hollow, with the right only good enough for him to make out the words.

Why was it taking so long for Shiro to find him?

One of the hands gets in his hair and yanks his face back up, his right eye cracking open from the continued pain to see what was going on, maybe prepare himself somehow.

He isn’t prepared to see the swollen head of Wachs’ cock, level with his eye and coming closer.

Lance screams and thrashes, shutting his eye and trying not to care about the pain _everywhere_ and just get away from the cock.

It doesn’t help.

Someone- he thinks Ronis- holds his head steady enough for Wachs to cant his hips forwards, sending the cock sliding against Lance’s cheekbone, smearing the stickyhot precum. He grunts and shuffles closer, boxing Lance in further and adding a hand to the top of his head to hold him better. Another shallow thrust, another unbearable press against his eyelids and another failed entry.

“Get the eye open! I’m not putting it in his mouth.” Wachs snaps, and two claws come to dig into his eyelids and force them apart.

Lance breathes through his mouth as he sees it come closer, unable to get enough air to scream again.

When it presses in, thick and huge and blunt, Lance bites his tongue.

It doesn’t stop, just slowly forcing a hole. Lance can feel his tear duct snap open and blood start to leak out, down his cheek and staining Wachs’ skin. Lance can feel his eye being forced to the side, feel it coming loose and it hurts so bad.

He doesn’t realize he’s screaming again until something gets shoved into his mouth to shut him up.

The pressure continues, and Lance registers that he can still see out of the eye just before the world goes dark on that side, a loud popping noise and then some wet rolling sounds the only warning before Wachs is forcing himself in, the pain getting so bad that Lance almost blacks out.

Almost, of course, being the key word. It doesn’t stop. He can’t pass out. He’s bleeding and he’s aching and he’s getting numb from the constant sharp feelings eating away at his ability to tell one ache from another.

Wachs sets up a punishing rhythm, snapping his hips forward and pulling them back out faster than Lance can think and leaving the only available action to be letting his face get fucked, his head getting pulled forward as the dick arches back and then get slammed into the pillar as the dick gets thrust back in. Time disappears, and Lance is sure he’s going to die before he sees anyone again.

He tries to mumble, to beg, around the thing in his mouth, but he can’t. It’s too big and he’s in too much pain, and the world is still a ferris wheel breakdancing around the purple cock in his eyesocket.

He chokes when he remembers, suddenly, his team. Between thrusts, he wonders what they’d think of this. Would they think he were stupid, for insisting on going alone? Shiro or Keith wouldn’t have made this stupid mistake. Hunk was too strong to have gone down with just a hit to the head. Pidge was small and quick and too smart. What would they do if they knew? How were they going to react? Would they tiptoe around him like something damaged or would they actually just drop him somewhere and forget about it? About him?

The thrusting speeds up, and he lets out a broken whimper. Will the soldier ever finish?

He’s just lucky the cock isn’t the biggest, otherwise he might have already died.

After a beat, Wachs presses forward and grinds into Lance’s face, irritating the wound and getting his gross fur in it. Some of the blood is starting to crust and cling, some flakes falling into his open lips and tasting utterly disgusting.

And then there’s a hitch in Wachs’ hips, a loud groan, and a spill of hot disgustingness in his eyesocket.

Lance has enough to vaguely wonder if it’ll reach his brain as the vision in his other eye swims, the pain and emptiness starting to make him want to pass out. Wachs finally steps back, and Teper had taken the heel of his boot off of Lance’s ankle quite some time before, while Lance had been thinking about other things.

Ronis reaches over and pinches the opical nerve, letting Lance’s eye stop hanging and slapping against his cheek and final roll down his armor and land with a disgusting splat on the floor.

Lance’s other eyelid starts fluttering and his head tips foreward, blackness starting to swim and sleep sounding welcome. He’s amazed he made it this far.

“Aw, have nothing else to say?” Ronis croons, while Wachs grumbles about the blood and grime on his dick.

Lance wakes up in the medical bay, Shiro unable to look him in his eye and the rest of the team not knowing what to say and trying to pester him to talk about it.

He doesn’t.

He doesn’t go on solo missions anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to the shance chat for making this a thing and the nsfw chat for letting me scream at them
> 
> i feel like i've disappointed my literal father by writing this


End file.
